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dickgraysonsbitch · 12 days

Text

it’s official—jason todd is now canadian

shopping with the batboys ( + bruce )

to my pineapple pizza haters: know you are valid

warnings: none | divider by @cafekitsune | requests open!

With DICK GRAYSON, the most mundane of shopping trips turns into an expedition—leaving your heart rushing and blood pounding. He shoots you a flirty wink before steadying the grip on his shopping cart. “Ready, sweetheart? Because I don’t think you are. I’ve got the bread isle memorized like the back of my—”

“Go!” You exclaim, snorting when you see the shocked expression on his face, like he wasn’t expecting you to cheat to try to beat him. Hey, he was a super-fit vigilante, how else were you going to get a head start against Nightwing? Pushing off of a rack of magazines, you let out a shout of victory as you grab the milk from the fridge. One down, two to go. You quickly place the eggs into your cart, but not before you make eye contact with your menace of a boyfriend, who smirks at you before grabbing the last bag of whole wheat bread. Damn, he really did have the bread isle memorized like the back of his hand, didn’t he?

He bats his eyelashes at you innocently, but not before flashing you a crooked grin. “I think that’s three, sweetheart. 3-2, if you know what I mean, so…” he smiles, but there’s a glint of mirth in his eyes that absolutely melts your heart.

“I’m still calling a foul. It’s your walk-in pantry, and there’s no way that you didn’t have an advantage over me.” You huff, crossing your arms, trying to replicate the cute-but-hurt puppy dog eyes that Dick seemed to have mastered.

He shook his head, chuckling to himself. “Sorry, but a deal’s a deal. I mean, I guess you could go back on it, but…” he looks up at you, with those eyes that could melt even the coldest of hearts, and probably a physical ice statue as well.

“Fine,” you grumble. “We can have pineapple on your stupid pizza. Do you want cereal for dessert?” The last question is supposed to be sarcastic, but the light in his eyes shifts from mischievous to downright carnal.

“Actually, I was thinking of having something else for dessert.”

Oh, boy.

You always knew that JASON TODD was going to spoil you rotten, and that was before you found out that he could cook. It wasn’t fair, actually, that he was probably the most gorgeous, intelligent, and caring person that you knew, all while being kick-ass and super talented at… basically everything. To some, God gave in abundance. Sighing dramatically, you propped yourself on his shoulder and leaned against him with your elbows.

His eyes twinkled at your new position. “What’s wrong, princess? Tacos not your scene anymore?” He was lying, obviously, because you demolished tacos like they were your last meal and you were on death row, but you still huffed and buried your face in his bicep.

“Jus’ thinking ‘bout how fuckin’ perfect you are, Jay,” you mumbled, your voice muffled by the muscle that somehow managed to stay defined under a leather jacket. “You’re really awesome, you know that? I’ve never met someone as amazing as you. They should put a picture of you up at the Met—‘cause you’re a work of art, baby.”

It’s obvious that he’s holding back laughter, from the way that his broad shoulders are shaking, but something inspires him to keep entertaining this though. Probably your endless supply of charm. “Yeah, babe? I knew you wanted me just for my pretty face.” It’s interesting, honestly, how his relationship with you made him more comfortable with… all parts of himself.

You slap his chest, (not that it does anything), a s pout, your brows furrowed. “You’re not funny.” He send you a soft smile, something that should be uncharacteristic for a man of his size, but it works on you, like it usually does.

He presses his lips together before hoisting you up onto an empty display, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear and out of your face. “Well then, it’s a good thing I’m pretty.” Within a minute of staring at your unamused face, he’s howling in laughter, snickering to himself like he’s the comedian of the year. It turns someth

And without a moment of warning, you’re sealing his lips with a kiss, sending a tingle all the way to the tips of your fingers, and he’s parting his lips to deepen it even further. His hands palm just above your ass, and you gaze at him with half-lidded eyes, softly running your thumb over his rough cheek, and it feels like paradise until—

“Hey! I thought this was a roommates only grocery trip?”

You and Jason both roll your eyes at the voice, and with varying levels of intensity, reply in unison.

“Shut up, Roy!”

Nothing made you shiver like the husky, low voice of BRUCE WAYNE whispering in your ear from behind you. It was an action that sent your poor heart into overdrive, but here, in this shop that was clearly out of your tax bracket (they had mannequins for diamond embellished puppy collars, for God��s sake) it was as if he was doing it just to show that you were at his mercy.

Not a bad place to be, if you thought about it.

“Try on the dress,” his voice is baritone, and he isn’t using his usual, suave business tone. No, this is the voice he uses when he wants something, and when he’s sure that he’s going to get it. It was like a spell was cast on you, and all you wanted to do was exactly what he said. You weren’t sure you really needed a spell for that anyway.

But still, you hesitated. The dress in question was an Oscar de la Renta mermaid cut gown, in pitch black, no doubt matching Bruce’s own personal aesthetic. The only hesitation? The price. You balked instantly when you glanced at the bill for the first time. Shit, you knew that a custom made dress that didn’t even have a tag on it would be more than your yearly rent. “It’s… 15,000 dollars! Bruce, I can’t accept this.”

He frowned, making you notice the soft wrinkles starting to appear on his face. God, that man took way too much stress for his own good. You’d tried warning against it, but when did he ever listen to anyone but himself (and Alfred)?

“Pocket change, darling. And it’s your first gala, I don’t want you to be wearing something you’ve worn before.” He lightly rubs his fingers against your waist, a promise of something else to come once you accept.

“It’s…” you look down. “It’s a lot. Are you sure?”

“Never been surer. Now, why don’t you look at matching jewelry?”

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dickgraysonsbitch · 12 days

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18+ minors dni

warnings: sex pollen but it’s a dick grayson solo special 💫

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

he’s not sure how he made it home in one piece, but the second he’s through the front door of his apartment, dick grayson is wrestling his way out of his nightwing suit, his ears ringing as he stumbles through his room and into his bathroom. his skin feels hot, too hot, and his breathing is ragged; ivy, he thinks hazily, discarding his suit on the floor. those fucking plants—it’s that goddamn pollen.

he rids himself of his boxers, and catches a glimpse of his sweaty, flushed appearance in the mirror. dick’s pupils are so wide that his blue eyes are almost black, and his cock is painfully hard, the tip red and angry as it leaks precum down his length. he grimaces as he lurches into the shower, dousing himself in freezing cold water. when dealing with poison ivy, he’s usually far more careful than he was tonight, and now he’s paying the price; too desperate to look for the antitoxin, he has to take matters into his own hands—literally.

dick grits his teeth as he wraps his fingers around his shaft, hissing at the tenderness. relief floods his taut muscles, but he can’t help but think how much better your tight cunt would feel around him right now. the image of you bent over makes his hand pump faster as he pictures your pretty ass bouncing off his thighs, and he swears he can hear the way you’d moan at his intrusions. god, he wishes he could see your pretty pussy gripping him right now.

his knuckles are white as he strokes himself, the burning on his skin still far from subsiding despite the orgasm building in his lower belly. shit, just a little more. he groans at the thought of using the crook of his elbow to pull you flush against him by your neck, keeping you in a headlock as he fucks into you, just so he can hear you whine. fuck, there it is.

he presses his burning forehead against the tiles as his abdomen spasms, ropes of hot cum spurting out onto the wall as he swears loudly. cold water trickles down dick’s stomach as he pants, his heartbeat thrumming in his ears. he realises the ache that had subsided just a moment ago is slowly building again. puzzled, he glances down, and his eyes widen at the sight of his cock, still rock-hard and twitching in the cool bathroom air. what kind of fucking plant was that?

he didn’t want to worry you with this—after all, he was sure his home remedy would work—but he realises he has no choice as he feels his skin growing feverish again, and he can only hope you’ll understand. he groggily shuts off the water and makes his way back into his room, collapsing onto his bed as he takes his phone from the nightstand. he manages to send you a single line—need you now, come see me—before he drops his phone in the sheets, his hand finding his aching cock once more. it’s going to be a long night.

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dickgraysonsbitch · 13 days

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Hi! Just found your blog and it’s the best thing ever honestly. I was wondering if you could do a Jason Todd x reader where the reader deals with migraines and sensory overloads? If not that’s totally cool, have a nice day!

thank you so much for your ask!! this was actually my first request ever 😭 nonny you will go down in history 💖 a psa that while i do have mild sensory issues, i don’t have migraines, so any and all criticism is welcome!

warnings: pills/migraines | 1.2k words | dividers by @cafekitsune | requests open !

You fell onto the bed, tucking your knees in close to your chest. Fifty minutes. This goddamned headache had been the bane of your whole existence for fifty minutes, and you couldn’t even catch a bloody break. Every week, it would come back like clockwork, and while you had your routine (two advils, an eye mask, and soothing ocean noises all while sitting in a dark room with a singular, mildly-scented lavender candle with two out of three wicks lit) it didn’t change the fact that every minute that you lay there, the throbbing sensation around your head came back worse than before.

Grasping the tip of your nose, you tilted your head back in order to swallow the pills next to you. If you didn’t, you’d eventually gag on the water, and that wasn’t really a pretty sight to see. It was a miracle that you could even work as a hostess, especially on the graveyard shift, because it was taking every ounce of your willpower not to throw up at even the most tamest memories—a sleepy child with food flying out of their mouth, or a costumer shouting about how ‘insane’ you were when you had only gotten through your second advil of the day. It wasn’t enough, clearly, because if it had been, you wouldn’t be holed up in your dark room like a vampire with chronic pain.

One knock on your window jolts you from your ibuprofen-fueled haze. Two knocks. Three knocks—god, who doesn’t have patience in this stupid city? Not everyone can be a metahuman that travels at the speed of sound.

You open your window, head still pulsing, but all thoughts of another cup of mildly sweetened honey tea dissipates when the Red Hood smoothly slides into your living room/kitchen (it’s Gotham! Rent may be low, but you are poor as hell), removes his helmet, and shakes his head like a wet dog, the domino mask he was wearing underneath somehow not falling off. He shoots you a crooked grin before plopping himself on your couch, resting his legs on your coffee table.

“Shoes off,” you grumble. “And for the millionth time, I have a door for a reason. And I put food on that table, and I don’t want to see your nasty feet on it.” While other people might be a bit more reserved when talking to a Bowery drug lord, you had never given yourself the same boundaries. He’d crashed into your apartment when he was injured one night a few months ago, and since then, the Red Hood swore to one, pay off your window, and two, make sure you were safe. In his words, it was the best way to repay you for saving his life—even though you didn’t really do anything of the sort. Basic stitches that you learnt in high school, because that was what they taught when a vigilante could collapse in your house due to blood loss any minute in Gotham.

“Woah…” he raises his hands up in mock surrender, his eyes glinting with mirth. “What’s wrong? Rough shift?”

He can always tell, and you’ve decided to refrain against trying to lie to the only crime lord that you’ll likely ever be friend with, unless the Penguin unexpectedly decides to lumber up your fire escape. (Hood’s gotten you a spiked baseball bat for occasions like that, because you complained about any firearms). A pang of pain from you head. Mental note, put out the candle, no wicks. Darken the room even more, try and fail to go to sleep. You have your second job in the morning tomorrow. Mental note, take a melatonin if you can’t sleep, pack a few pills of ibuprofen and acetaminophen if you can’t get through your morning shift. It’s two AM right now, you could still get three hours of sleep if you—

A rough, calloused hand gently caresses your cheek, sending a tingling sensation down your jawline, all the way down to the base of your spine. Okay, woah. “Take a deep breath, baby.” Hood’s deep, gravelly voice shakes your from your stupor. Oh. You were slipping back into your anxiety induced panic attacks, and you hadn’t even noticed. You take one deep breath, but instead of feeling like you’re stuffing an oversized pillow into a kid sized cover, you’re at ease, letting fresh air flow into your lungs.

“How you doin’ tonight, huh baby? I saw your kitchen light on, thought I’d stop by.” Red Hood rubs a simple circle pattern into your back, letting you lean onto him.

“I bet…” you take a shallow breath. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

A smile cracks through onto his face. “Nah, baby, just you. All the girls have nothing on you, baby. You want to tell me about your day?”

Maybe it was just his voice, but you were almost immediately more at ease than you wee moments ago. Red Hood would’ve had a great calling as a therapist, or even a guidance counselor, but you weren’t sure that he’d like it if you called him, arguably the most fearsome man in Gotham, a service worker. Men were weird that way.

“C-can you talk to me, Hood? I don’t know… you have a nice voice, I guess. Makes me feel safe.”

You could swear that you heard his voice crack before he cleared his throat. “Yeah, yeah, I can do that. So… I guess I didn’t do much today. Oh! This one sleaze-bag was trying to rob this eighth grader, and I’d never seen this old guy, okay? The kid, his name’s James, he immediately just swings his backpack at him. And I come in, this dude’s already gotten a broken nose…”

He keeps talking about the unexpected things that happened during his day, but your eyes are just trained on Hood. His sharp jaw, his toned arms, his hair and the decent-sized white streak that runs through it, his soft lips and the J scar that covered his left cheekbone, and you wondered what it would be like to know him without the mask on. Would he still be the same, sweet guy that you knew?

In a sudden moment of courage, you take Hood’s hand and squeeze it, your heart pounding nervously against your ribcage. “Thank you, Hood.” You whisper. “I don’t know… I don’t know what I would be done if you weren’t here. I’d probably be still having a killer headache right now.”

He smiles, something that you’ve been seeing him do a lot more often than he’s known for. Red Hood, vigilante, drug lord, crime boss? Nowhere to be seen. You try your hardest to gaze past the white lenses over his eyes, concealing his eye color.

“Jay,” he mutters softly, soft enough that if you hadn’t been sitting so close, you wouldn’t have been able to hear a word that he said. “Call me Jay.”

The head comes come back sometimes, but you usually tend to ignore the headaches after a dose of acetaminophen and a head massage from who might be the world’s best vigilante, Jay. You may not know his full name yet, but you know his heart, and under all that armor, under the Red Hood, is a man with a heart of gold.

please please please let me know if i got anything wrong so i can edit it!

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd imagine #dc robin #jason todd x oc #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd fluff #jason todd fanfiction #red hood #red hood x you #red hood x reader #red hood x y/n #red hood imagines #cinna’s asks #dickgraysonsbitch

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dickgraysonsbitch · 14 days

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your most recent jason fic has me in a bit of a chokehold and its bc you do so well with the dialogue and the banter!!

HONEYLOVE???#?*×& i need to be physically restrained (i appreciate your fics respectfully)

anyways, the fic has me thinking: imagine it's the same reader, but they know Jason's alive and they're back to being friends again (skipping over the drama of "YOU'RE ALIVE?!?" "yea lmao sorry ily tho") but there's this tension now. and since Jason's not working with a mask anymore (and he's slightly more vulnerable with r), it's him who gets flustered and it's r who does the flirting playful banter. maybe it ends with a kiss (˘ ³˘) ?

i'm such a sucker for a flustered Jason and there's something that tells me he gets really weak in the knees for someone he adores >:) anyways, you can always choose to write this or not but a very big, fat thank you if you do

the reaction pics are SO FUNNY i'm glad you enjoy this au <3

jason todd x gn!nocturne!reader. pt 3 of vigilante reader. this is basically reader just being feral over jason :> they speak for all of us, really. love confessions, tension, somewhat flustered jason, more sparring lols.

pt 1 / pt 2

****

Jason Todd is alive. Jason Todd is sitting two feet away, talking about a case.

You can't quite believe it. You went home two days ago and expected to wake up to the whole thing being a dream or the result of a Poison Ivy hallucinogen.

You can't stop staring at him. It's weird. You're being weird. But you can't help it.

Every time you see Jason, you want to look at him for as long as possible. You don't want to forget his face. This new face. Scarred and hardened, but still good. Still loved.

And, well. It's not like Jason's bad looking. Sure, you thought he was cute when you were teenagers. Resurrection makes the heart grow fonder, et cetera.

But now? Now, Jason makes your heart stupid. You can barely contain your desire. It's been two weeks since he revealed himself, and every time you see him, you have to dig your nails into your palms to keep yourself from showing him what he does to you.

Sometimes you think he sees right through you, but if he does, he never acts on it.

"—listening. Yo. Ground control to Major Tom. Are you with me?"

Jason waves a hand in front of you. You blink.

He's unmasked and in a Fleetwood Mac t-shirt and dark jeans—the most comfortable you've seen him, actually. His hair is still wet from his shower.

"Sorry," you say, suddenly zeroed in on the three droplets of water sliding down his neck. "I'm listening. Just looking at you."

"'Cause I'm so pretty?" Jason asks, batting his lashes.

You reach over without thinking. He freezes when you wipe the water off of his neck. Then you tuck a curl behind his ear.

"You should let me blow-dry your hair," you say, taking your time in dropping your hand. "It'll take ages to dry in this humidity."

Jason's eyes have gone wide. Pink splotches bloom on the apples of his cheeks.

"Uh." He swallows. You watch his throat bob. "Thanks. Maybe... next time."

"I'll steal Dick's. He's got the fancy sixteen setting one."

That makes Jason smile. "Hm. Some things never change."

His eyes crinkle at the corners. Fondness swells swiftly in your chest.

You stay like that for a moment, caught in each other's orbit.

Jason breaks it first, leaning away. "Right. You should probably get back to the Manor. Br–the others'll probably think I kidnapped ya."

You shrug. "I quit."

"What?"

"Bruce was getting on my last nerve. I can't work with someone like that."

Jason snorts. "Join the club. Look, I can't say I'm not thrilled that you're stickin' it to the old man. But if this is 'cause of me... I wouldn't be mad if you kept workin' with him. Honest. If that's what you wanna do, don't let me stop you."

"Jason." You rest your hand atop his. "I joined this life because of you. To honor you. You taught me how to help people, not Bruce. You taught me what it meant to be kind, to be a part of something bigger than myself."

To love, you don't say.

"I..." He shakes his head. "You became Nocturne for me?"

You close your eyes, then open them. You've cried so many times. You don't want to stay in your grief any longer. Not when he's right in front of you.

"When you died, I..." You take a deep breath. "Nocturne was something to ground me. I think Bruce recognized that. I think he knew how much you meant to me. He didn't have to take a chance on me, and I appreciate that he did. But I've realized that he doesn't know everything. Can't see what's right in front of him sometimes."

You squeeze Jason's wrist. He sighs.

"God, I'm sorry," he says.

"What're you sorry for, Jay? You came back. That's all I ever wanted."

Jason chews his cheek for a moment. Then he stands, chair scraping the floor.

"C'mon," he says.

You follow him to the living room. He moves the armchair, the couch, and rolls up the rug. He disappears down the hall and returns with two thick mats. He tosses them onto the floor.

"Uh..." you say. "What're you—"

"'M gonna show you what y'did wrong that night on the roof."

"Wow. Can't believe you're still single. Being reminded of my shitty combat skills gets me so hot."

Jason rolls his eyes. "Alright, smartass. Just 'cause you quit the Bats doesn't mean you won't go out there and keep helping people. I know you. The least I can do is pick up where Dickface left off in your training."

"The least you can do, huh? I think you just wanna pin me against the floor again," you say, smirking.

He clears his throat. "That—no."

"No?" You step closer and look at him through your lashes. You're so close, you're touching his chest. "What happened to tying me up 'cause I was out when I shouldn't have been? Isn't that another educational technique?"

Jason's throat bobs. "That wasn't—I was just saying things."

"Hm. That's too bad."

You skip right past him, onto the mat, and hold out your arms.

"Okay. Put the moves on me, J.P."

It takes Jason a moment to craft his usual poker face. When he does, he groans. "'M not an evil Gilded Age financier. Still don't like 'J.P.'"

"But you like me-ee," you sing-song.

He shrugs. "Sometimes. Until you give me a heart attack and run into a burning building."

"Wish I could've seen your face for that one," you say as you steel your shoulders and secure your feet.

"Better you didn't. I'm sure there was a vein or two popping outta my forehead." Jason cracks his neck. "Ready?"

"Lay it on me, big guy."

"You first. Attack me like you normally would."

So you do. You step forward and throw a punch similar to the one from your rooftop spar. Jason catches it, of course. But this time, he locks you in a hold. One leg is between yours, and your arms are twisted behind your back with one hand. Humiliating.

"Dude!" You wiggle. Jason doesn't yield. "Jay, come on. No petty criminal is gonna know how to do all that."

"I know. The point of this is for you to know how to use someone's size against them."

Jason presses his cheek against yours. You tamp down your shiver. You can hear his heartbeat.

"Take a breath," he murmurs.

You close your eyes and breathe. Jason's grip doesn't hurt, but you're frustrated by how predictable you are. How he knows your body. A part of you is missing in not knowing him the way he knows you.

"Alright," he says. "Think. What part of me is exposed?"

"Not the important parts, I hope."

You can feel his eyeroll.

"You're hilarious. C'mon, focus. What can you attack?"

"Um... your legs. You trapped my arms, but my and your legs are free."

"Good." The praise warms you. Being this close to Jason will never get old. "What else?"

"What else? Do you have a tail I don't know about?"

"Sucha wiseass," he says, mouth close to your ear. "Your head. You're still able to move your head, and you're close to my face."

"Yeah, I'm not headbutting you. Out of the kindness of my heart."

"I appreciate that, sweets. Sweep my leg."

So you do. Jason goes down easier than he normally would for your benefit.

"'Kay," he says, once again underneath you. Now you have his hands pinned. "Good. Remember what went wrong last time?"

"You bucked me off like a Clydesdale."

He smiles. "Yeah, okay. So what'll you do different?"

"I'm not in my suit," you say. "I don't have extra weight in my boots."

"No, but you don't need it if you keep my legs apart."

"So that was your plan all along, huh? Perv."

Jason coughs. "Ah-hum... I—c'mon, lock my legs."

You grin and spread Jason's legs, using your knees to keep him immobile.

And then you just stare. This time, it's not because you're thinking about the miracle of resurrection (though what a miracle it is). No, you're just thinking, once again, about how your best friend got really, stupidly pretty.

And how you really, stupidly wanna kiss him.

Jason still looks young, but his jaw is now defined. He's got a five o'clock shadow coming on. His lips are full and pink. Freckles dot his cheeks and nose. The nose that still has a bump from when he broke it during a fight with Riddler.

You remember how he played it off for weeks. Bruce said that didn't even cry. But when you asked if it hurt, Jason had said yes.

You wonder when the last time Jason cried was. You wonder how much pain he's suffered since.

You wonder if he knows he's got your heart in the palm of his hand.

"Hey," Jason says. His voice is soft. Shy. "I lose ya again?"

You shake your head. "No. Never."

"There somethin' on my face?"

"You're a lot to look at," you say. "Pretty, pretty boy."

That gets an undeniable reaction. Jason Todd has never been able to take a compliment. You've been exploiting that all day.

Perhaps you know him better than you thought.

He exhales sharply, like you've sucker-punched him. His eyes dart to you. Waiting.

"Your eyes are green," you say. "Like, mixed. Blue and green."

Jason nods. "I—yeah. The Pit. Changed 'em. Changed me."

You lean in. His gaze flicks to your mouth. You watch his Adam's apple bob in a hard swallow.

"They're still pretty," you say. "Always had pretty eyes, Jaybird."

"Heh, right. Even with this shit?" He points to the scar that crosses over his right eye, stopping at his lip.

You let go of his wrists—not that you were holding them that tightly anyway. If this were a real fight, you would've lost ten times over already. Considering how much of you is touching Jason, you happen to be winning hard.

You trace the puckered white flesh with your thumb. Jason flinches but doesn't pull away.

"Your face could never turn me away," you say. "Never."

He closes his eyes and shudders. "Y'too nice to me. Always so nice t'me. Even when we were fighting. Why're ya so good?"

Your lips are a hair from his now. "I don't know how to make it more obvious, Jaybird. I'm absolutely insane about you."

Jason's eyes fly open. He sees your mouth and his breathing increases. You smile.

"Yeah, want you bad. No place I wouldn't follow you. Do anything for you."

Jason makes a strangled noise in his throat. You grin.

"C'mon, big guy. I'm right here. Come have me, Jay. I'm yours."

Jason soars up and kisses you. Swallows you, really. His hands hold your waist for dear life. You wrap one leg around his.

You nip his lip. Jason whines softly. Delicious.

You grab his face, fingers tangling in his curls. Jason sits up, slotting you against him. One hand supports you on your back, the other on your side.

"God—" He breaks away, just barely. "You're way too good for me. Had sucha... sucha crush on ya when we were kids. Y'so sweet."

You blindly find his throat and bite, hard enough to leave a mark. Jason makes a guh sound. You lick the bite to soothe it.

"Missed you," you say into his skin. "Missed you so goddamn bad, Jason."

"Yeah. Yeah, yeah," he babbles, clinging to you as you kiss up his neck. "Yeah, missed you too."

"Not letting you go," you say, almost snarling. You're angry with want, angry at the world for keeping this from you for so many years. "It's you and me now, Jay, mkay? Gonna be mine?"

"Always been yours," he says, panting. Jason finds your lips again. The kiss is messy, uncoordinated. Full of love. "No one but you."

You haven't fallen behind. You're starting anew.

"Never been anybody but you."

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dickgraysonsbitch · 15 days

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Additionally to the song I mentioned, I think of Guilty As a Sin when reader meets dick, bad idea, right? And the relationship with the fiancé feels like it’s going to end like Getaway Car lol

YES YES YES GUILTY AS A SIN AND BAD IDEA RIGHT ARE ON MY WRITING PLAYLISTTTT

also getaway car is so matt and reader coded you’re so right about that

#cinna’s asks #dickgraysonsbitch

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dickgraysonsbitch · 15 days

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Do you write for Tim Drake? bcs he's my fav but i saw your "x with the batboys" type stuff (they're great btw! do you have a masterlist?) but he wasn't there. Second fav is dick grayson though so i'd send requests either way

yeah i do!! inspo just wasn’t hitting me for timmy for the shopping fic 😭 but i’d love to get your tim/dick requests!

#it’s anon time!#cinna’s asks #dickgraysonsbitch

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dickgraysonsbitch · 15 days

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Moth to a flame??!! God it’s so good!! I need a whole series, your writing is phenomenal!!

thank you so much 😭😭

I’m still astounded by the love I’m getting for the shopping fic and mtaf!! i will most definitely write a series bc I can’t just leave that cliffhanger ykwim??

#it’s anon time!#cinna’s asks #dickgraysonsbitch

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dickgraysonsbitch · 15 days

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Your MOTH TO A FLAME story reminds me to the smallest man to ever live

YOU GOT IT OMG MATT WAS INSPIRED BY MATTY NASTY HEALY

#cinna’s asks #dickgraysonsbitch

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dickgraysonsbitch · 15 days

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Hi! Sorry to bother but..

In your "Shopping with the batboys (+Bruce)" fic... You tagged it as Tim and Damian but they're not there?

BAHAHAH you caught me being a lazy author 😭

I was planning on writing for Dami and Tim asw but just couldn’t find inspiration. Thanks for letting me know!

#it’s anon time!#cinna’s asks #dickgraysonsbitch

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dickgraysonsbitch · 15 days

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Okay im tanning and i just got an idea

Outdoor sex with Jason 🙏

Like youre tanning and just relaxing and he just CANNOT stay away. He just lays next to you and slowly moves closer and by the time you know whats happening hes on you 🧎‍♀️

And when he's done he just "just wanted to let you know you forgot your alarm and its time to turn over, couldn't let my girl burn" AHHH

“thank you for the ask leah” we say in unison 🩷 freestyled a lil bit towards the end oop don’t sue. also? this is me pushing my summerboy jason agenda.

18+ minors dni

warnings: sprinkle of exhibitionism 👀

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

he was supposed to be helping you reapply your tanning oil, but somehow jason todd has worked his way between your legs, and now your bikini bottoms are pulled to the side and your ass is bouncing off his thighs as he fucks you languidly in the hot afternoon sun. his movements are unhurried and mellow thanks to the heat, and his hands roam your ass freely, occasionally squeezing the plump flesh between his fingers.

you moan softly into the towel beneath you as he rocks in and out if you with ease, your wetness pooling at the base of his cock and making it glisten in the sun. jason’s green eyes are lidded while he watches your pussy take him almost to the hilt, a lazy smile spreading on his face as you struggle to keep quiet. he knows you’ve only worn this little two-piece around him to get yourself in this position, and he’s more than happy to oblige; even out in the open like this, he can’t resist you.

the sight of you before him is something to behold; your tanning lotion has your skin glowing in the sunlight, and your ass in the air gives him an unobstructed view of your sex leaking around him. there’s a nagging feeling at the back of your minds that you’ll be caught—after all, you’re fucking by the wayne manor pool, and the man of the house could be home any second—but jason is too consumed by the way you feel and the sounds you make to care.

his lower abdomen starts to tense as your moans get louder, and he brings a hand over your mouth despite his orgasm creeping up on him. “shhh, princess,” he rasps, speeding up his thrusts. “want somebody to hear you?” you whine into his palm as his grip on your ass tightens, feeling his cock twitch inside you. his hips falter, and he pulls out of you with a deep groan as hot ropes of cum paint your lower back.

after a moment, he sighs and uncovers your mouth, leaning down to kiss the top of your head as he comes down from his release. your head is spinning as you let your hips drop back onto the chaise, when jason’s voice catches your attention. “turn over for me, ma,” he tells you, using another towel to wipe down his mess on your skin. you look at him, puzzled, and he chuckles as he coaxes you onto your back with his hands on your waist.

“what? don’t want your tan to be uneven,” he says coyly, repositioning himself between your legs. he glances back at the house before bringing his fingers to your tender clit, circling slowly. “jason—” you say, but it sounds more like a moan than a warning. he flicks his eyes back to you and grins.

“just relax,” he coos, sinking his middle finger into your aching cunt as you gasp. “y’don’t wanna get caught, right?”

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dickgraysonsbitch · 15 days

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I drew today…

My day job changed, I’m working 12 hour days so I just sleep when I get home. Doodle in the office is life

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dickgraysonsbitch · 16 days

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HI GUYS! i finally turned on anonymous requests bc i forgot to turn it on before, so if anyone wants to request anything, i’m happy to write it!!

#batfam #batfamily #bruce wayne #dc batman #dick grayson #jason todd #jason todd x reader #batman #bruce wayne x reader #damian wayne #tim drake x reader #damian wayne x reader

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dickgraysonsbitch · 17 days

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MOTH TO A FLAME — DICK GRAYSON X JOURNALIST!READER

3.3k words | divider by @cafekitsune | requests open !

summary: your relationship with dick grayson was history two years ago. as of yesterday, you were (not so) happily engaged to another man, and your relationship with him was swoon-worthy, but it seems like it could crumble like a house of cards. so when your perfect ex comes back into your life for help on a case, will you go back to him like a moth to a flame?

you’re just a moth to a flame.

you were engaged. you knew this, this wasn’t new fucking information, and you were supposed to feel elated, on top of the world, like you were on cloud nine or some other shit people in love said—wait, no. you were in love with your fiancé, or at least you tried to be. he was sweet, and he looked good, with his fluffy blonde hair, deep brown eyes, and lean figure. nerd hot. just your type, but why did it seem like as every day went on, you kept trying to convince yourself that this was what you wanted?

you stretched your arms before lugging yourself out of bed, grabbing your phone to check your messages, which you assumed were the reason that your phone was buzzing so much that it was about to fall off your dresser.

PHOTOS NOTIFICATION: november, 2021, AMUSEMENT MILE THEME PARK. do you want to share this memory with DICKIEBIRD 💙?

you pressed your mouth into a line, reminiscing. that was probably the best time you’d ever had in your entire life. you, dick, wally and artemis, eating cotton candy and popcorn at an amusement park.

“one more bite of food and you’re going into carnival crime territory, wally,” you sing, your voice carrying its signature teasing lilt. “then i’m going to win, and you’ll have to pay for everything.”

“just make your stupid boyfriend pay, he’s the billionaire!” wally's disgruntled groan came from a foot behind you, were he was still struggling on his second milkshake. sucker.

dick threw an arm around your shoulder, spreading a hint of warmth over your torso. he was, as you liked to call him, your personal space heater. “hey, it’s the son of a billionaire. and i’d much rather see my super sexy girlfriend beat my best friend’s ass.”

artemis grinned, her phone ready to snap a picture of when wally would undisputedly hurl like a toddler who had eaten too many gerber puffs. “me too, so hurry up, wally.”

the memory of dick throwing up because of the amount of sugar he had consumed in the short span of three hours almost had you laughing out loud, with your fiancé in the bed right next to you. god, you were so pathetic.

“something funny?” his low voice was next to your ear, and you could almost feel his breath on your neck, but for some reason, you wanted to push him away.

your breath hitched, and the guilt crept into your heart again. you were in bed with your fiancé, and you were daydreaming about your ex-boyfriend, who probably forgot your existence. dick was charming, but even you knew that he had a steady stream of people on call to fuck. one of the plus sides to being the hottest person in blüdhaven, you guessed.

“uh, just checking the group chat. girl stuff, matt, you can’t see it.” your mouth twisted into a mischievous smirk, and you quickly stood up and walked towards the shower, rapidly checking the group chat that you opened up your phone for. curse dick grayson and his beautiful blue eyes, which were obviously the only reason you stared that that picture for so long. not the lovesick look he had on his face when looking at you, and definitely not his flirty smile when you made eye contact with him. that would be crazy, right?

maybe you should finally open the group chat.

rue: so how’d your night go?? 😉

annie: i bet she’s so tired that she can’t even walkkk

charlie: ofc she can’t, it’s matt myers!! he’s so fine 😩😩

the conversation then devolved into a discussion of which of matt’s photoshoots was the ‘hottest’, which should’ve made any other, self respecting friend group shy away from the conversation, but never rue, annie and charlie. no, they said that matt was too ‘sexy’ to be quiet about, and it was like they were waiting for you to mess up just to take your place. the sad part was that you wouldn’t mind letting them.

you had met matt, ironically, at a wayne gala that you were covering post breakup with dick, which was the only way that you measured time nowadays. he was hot enough to be… a rebound, and you were okay with that, until he started hounding you for a date. one date, two dates, and suddenly, a year and a half later, you were engaged. the next step, obviously (in matt's words), was the whole white picket fence, 2.5 kids, and living the rest of your days in your dream house. if it was so obvious, why did it make your stomach curdle like you had a flu? why did the idea of kids with matt, being bonded to him for life, make you want to toss your stupid ring at his face, pack your bags, and run? did he even know why your favorite color was dark blue? did matt myers know that the reason that the sapphire stone on your ring was because of dick grayson?

you glanced at your fiancé before looking at your phone and sighing. “matt, i'm going out for some fresh air.” your heart panged. maybe you should give matt some slack, because after all, he picked up the pieces of you after dick so abruptly left. maybe he was better than what you gave him credit for. maybe the two of you would work long term, and you could go the white picket fence with him. it couldn’t hurt. “wanna come with?”

“nah. get me some seaweed chips though, from erewhon. we ran out.” matt shot you a badly timed wink, which made you grimace, and in that moment, you realized a very disturbing fact. nobody could make your blood pump like dick grayson, and no matter who you were with, there would only be one man on your mind.

sighing, you quickly changed into a ratty hoodie and leggings, making sure you weren’t in some sort of nightmare dream that you weren’t able to get out of. because that was your dream, right? being engaged to an incredibly attractive, talented and kind person, and spending the rest of your life with him? you gave yourself a short pep talk in the mirror—“you are hot! everyone wants you! you are engaged!”—before slipping on your shoes and calculating the distance to blüdhaven’s nearest erewhon, which was an easy twenty minute walk away. maybe you could thank matt for the exercise that he was always hounding you to do.

step. step. step. your walk turned into the same banal rotation of the past year and a half of your life, always the same thing over and over, and the thought of what your life might have been like if you had just stayed clung in your mind like cobwebs. unwanted, unnecessary, but it made your heart ache just a little bit to get rid of them.

erewhon came faster than you expected it to, and you stepped inside, the chilly air hitting your face like a wall of ice, and you grabbed a basket, picking up those chips matt loved. he was safe. safe and comfortable, but why did safe and comfortable suddenly feel like boring and predictable?

you caught a glimpse of yourself in the reflective glass of the door, yearning to see the bright eyed, excitable girl that existed only a few years ago, but all you saw was… you. drained, unhappy, a permanent frown on your face. you attempted a smile, pulling your mouth from both sides, but the result was only a mix of a grimace and a clown’s toothy grin. you couldn’t smile right either.

your phone pinged, and a blue heart showed up on your screen. you hadn’t texted him in two years, but the icon still made your heart flutter with anticipation, before your squashed it like a bug under a boot.

DICKIEBIRD 💙: hey smartie pants! i need to talk to u about something important. let’s meet at 0900 at lux?

you bit your lip. the pros of this: you could finally get closure. dick grayson was hard to get ahold of, but maybe this was your chance to ask him—why did the two of you not work? was it you? was it him? or was it his true first love, nightwing?

you: hey. does 0930 work? i’m out running errands right now.

a beat.

DICKIEBIRD 💙: yeah! miss u lots, btw. see you then!

two hours later, after you had dropped off matt’s life-sustaining seaweed chips for a disgruntled “thanks, babe” in return, you walked into lux, your favorite sweater and skirt combo clinging onto you like a second skin. you’d worn a different, light blue dress on instinct, but you quickly realized that the dress you had picked out was dick’s favorite, so it immediately out of the question. shame, it was a damn hot dress.

“hey!” you heard a cheery voice from behind you. he said your name like it came off easy, like you hadn’t been each other’s confidants once upon a time. he said your name the way you wished that you could say his, with no meaning attached behind it. “it’s been so long, and you look great!” his eyes flicked to the stone on your left hand ring finger, and you could swear that his face fell the smallest amount, but if he felt anything, he didn’t tell you.

you didn’t have the same self control that he did. his name fluttered off of your tongue like a prayer, like he was a god and your only chance at salvation. “dick… um… hi. yeah, you look great too, but i guess enough people tell you that on a daily basis.”

“well, i hope you’re getting complemented just as much. what, your fiancé not doing it for you anymore, or is that just a pretty rock?” he grinned, his dimples highlighted by the dim light in the club. you suddenly kicked yourself for even showing up. how could he read you like a book by only looking at you for a minute or two, max?

your eyes widened, heart beating out of your chest. “uh, i mean… i’m engaged. matt. that’s his name. matt myers.”

as if reading your mind, dick’s smile fell, and he placed a comforting hand on your forearm. “hey, i didn’t mean anything by the pretty rock comment, okay? don’t stress, i’m not here to seduce you.” oh, dick. what you’d give for him to say the opposite. “i’m actually here about a case. not bruce related, by the way. my usual case partner on this one is having a little trouble, so i thought…” he shrugged, because telling you that you were a backup didn’t break his heart, not like being on the receiving end broke yours. it wasn’t a shatter, just a tiny crack to the ones that he’d been adding all this time.

“yeah, i can help you out. what’s up?” you tried to seem nonchalant, but maybe the pain seeped through your voice. you wouldn’t count it against your terrible emotional regulation skills, but a small part of you was itching to help—to get back into the routine that truly sparked fire in you, instead of the rabbit food conversations that had matt jumping around like it was Christmas.

dick pulled out a variety of manila folders, labeled with a variety of female names on them, and a type of flower. he pinched three different photos of the victims, you were assuming, who were mauled and then arranged into neat shapes, with their hands crossed over their chest like mummies, and a clean, crisp white flower placed on top of them. the flowers were all different species’, you noted, with some including a white rose, a white poppy, and a white petunia.

“what do you have so far?” your voice came off far too eager, far too fast and far too interested. no, this was a favor he was coming to you for, so why did it feel like you were a caged bird that could finally sing, stretch it’s wings and soar into the sky without inhibitions? dick pressed his lips together, running a hand though his tousled, raven hair. god, what you’d give to have the chance to do that one more time. maybe dick was right when he broke up with you, because if you couldn’t even control yourself when you had a fiancé, how did he know that you could handle being with him?

he hesitated—it was evident in the way that he froze before trying to say something again. perhaps he was also thinking about the other times that you helped him with his cases, spending late nights poring over pictures and elaborate pictures, only to end up watching the real housewives of beverly hills instead. or maybe he was rethinking, questioning, even, why he had even involved you in the first place. you wouldn’t hold it against him; you’d always been too interested for your own good.

“close to nothing. no prints, no dna, just these flowers, whatever they mean. i wanted to know if you could reach out to shy of your sources—see if they know anything. they’ve been helpful before.” his voice sounded tired, not the usual, cheery voice he pasted onto himself. it made you feel a bit better, if you could call it that, that he didn’t feel the need to pretend to be the golden wayne child in front of you. or maybe you were delusional in your belief that he’d even let his facade drop.

you bit your lip, and twisted the dark blue engagement ring on your finger absentmindedly. “is this a nightwing problem, or an officer grayson problem? because that makes a difference in which sources i use.”

dick grinned, and you were mostly sure that it was genuine, with a flash of teeth distracting you from the issue at hand (which was more like the issue on your left hand ring finger) but dick had always had that effect on you. “thinking about breaking the law, future mrs gr—future pulitzer prize winner? to answer your question, if you think about it,” he started, “it’s a both problem.” his face fell, and the wide smile that was there moments ago disappeared so fast that you almost thought that you imagined it. “they’ve started personally targeting people in my family. cass and damian both noticed a tail when they were walking out in the city, and i would be worried if they weren’t, you know, the deadliest people in gotham, but if anything happened to them, i don’t know if i'd be able to forgive myself. or worse, alfred…”

the look on his face is anguished, as if he’s imagining a lifetime of pain being inflicted on his family, and you know that he’s rather take it himself than let anything happen to them. “dick, don’t worry, okay? alfred is probably more dangerous than anyone in your family combined, and i say that after i've met cass and steph. nothing’s going to happen to them. we’re going to find this psycho, then we’re going to get justice for the victims and their families.” you reach out to touch his arm, but the moment your skin makes contact with his, you pull back like his forearm was on fire.

nodding, he looks back up at you, his eyes filled with an admiration you haven’t seen in quite a while. “yeah, i’m overreacting, right? and it’s not like they won’t be able to defend themselves. cass could probably kick my ass on one of her bad days.” he shudders. “she’s awesome and all, but scary as hell.”

you laugh, finally at ease, not on edge about what you’re saying or about to do. “yeah, well, clearly you’ve never seen her in the same room as a full english breakfast. i remember this one time that she came over to our apartment after patrol, and this was at three o’clock in the morning, okay? she walks in, starts getting the eggs out of our fridge…” your eyes catch a glimpse at dick’s face. he’s smiling, his face satiated and truly… happy. how long has it been since you looked like that? the earlier morning comes into your mind, and you stammer, recollecting how you looked in the glass of the fridge at the store. like a broken woman rather than the girl that you used to be.

now it’s dick’s turn to take your hand into his, and rub it gently, the way that he always used to do when you were nervous before taking one of your tests in university, or when you utterly messed up cooking dinner. it meant that he was here for you, that he would be there no matter what, but a small part of your brain wanted to question him nonetheless; if he had left you before, he would leave you again. that was the rule, the past precedent that he had kept for himself, and if he had wanted to stay, he would’ve.

his thumb brushes over your engagement ring, the one that you and forgotten even existed and now felt heavier on your finger than a ton of bricks, the one that your fiancé had given to you as a token of trust. you couldn’t break the one promise you had left, but clearly, dick must have been thinking the same thing. he pulled his hand away the moment he touched the ring, and looked at you with a guilty expression. “so… how long have you guys been…”

“last night.” you said, not an ounce of warmth in your voice. there never was, when it came to matt. it was more like a dry tone of obligation than anything else.

dick’s eyes widened, shame seeping into his expression. “i'm so sorry, sw—i mean, you shouldn’t be here on your engagement day. we can talk some other time, or i can send you—”

“if i didn’t want to be here, dick, i wouldn’t be.”

“good to know.” he smiled, before turning his attention back to the folder in his hands. “hey, i have to go. we’ll keep in touch, alright?” he stands up, about to lean in for a hug, but you stick your arm out, ready to shake his hand. cold and impersonal, but it wasn’t like you were doing a good job of that in the first place.

the two of you settle for a half hug-half handshake combination, somehow making the situation more awkward than it already was. he send you a crooked grin, and it cements itself in your brain, another blip of dick grayson in your grey life. maybe… maybe this isn’t a bad idea after all, and maybe you could rein in your emotions just to see a little more of him, his dark blue eyes haunting your dreams like an apparition. you could sacrifice that and so much more just to have his eyes in your life.

“see you later, right?” you smiled, the muscles in your face contracting in that direction for the first time in a few weeks, perhaps. oh, the things that he did to your poor heart. he waved, mouthing a quick bye to you before picking up a call on his phone, and you could hear a stern ‘jason’ before he vanished, out of earshot, out of sight, but not out of your mind.

you started on your path back home, deciding against taking a taxi when the fares would be the highest. maybe it was just an eerie coincidence on your part, but you swore that there was something behind you, a pair of eyes tracking your every move. you would have cast it aside as paranoia, but it was sending a creeping shiver up your spine, terrifying you to your very bones. perhaps that is what happens when one works on a murder case.

you brushed it off, but the feeling of eyes on your back did not dissipate.

ooh spooky right? does anyone fancy a part two for this one or nah?

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